A Hero's throne tae-2

by Ross Lawhead

  It growled as it started to slide down the concrete escarpment. It stopped directly in front of Anna. Its face lowered; instead of skin it had black sludge, which oozed itself into a grin that revealed massive, yellow, pebble-like teeth. “Pretty,” it said, lifting an arm and hand. “Tasty,” it said, reaching out for her.

  In a flash, Sean picked up a length of metal pipe that laid nearby-part of a mangled signpost. He hefted it above his head and ran forward, bringing it down heavily on the thing’s shoulder, just above an orange traffic cone that appeared to be a part of its back.

  It felt the blow-barely. It reacted as Sean would react if a three-year-old hit him with a cardboard tube. He got the monster’s attention though.

  “Run, Anna!”

  Anna broke into a sprint, across the field toward home, not daring to look back.

  Sean dropped the heavy bit of metal in his hands and made to follow her, but the monster took two large strides toward him and swiped with his arm. It was like being hit by a falling tree trunk, and the blow sent him flying through the air where he smacked into one of the concrete pillars of the overpass.

  His head swam and his perception rippled, like jelly tossed into a swimming pool. He was dizzy and sick, and wondering why everything had become so dark.

  He shook his head to clear it, and through a dim tunnel of fuzzy grey, he saw an enormous head with even more enormous teeth grinning at him, as though it was very far away, but he could feel and smell a breath that stank like rancid ditch water.

  “Tasty,” the face said, and Sean felt a massive hand wrap around his arm and he was lurched upright, which made the world spin horrifyingly. There was intense pain and a chomping noise and then nothing more.

  II

  Freya clutched at her chest and fought for control of her breathing. In the sea of terror, she found a brick and then another and set them together. Piece by piece, she rebuilt the wall until finally she and Fear were two separate entities again. But when, in her mind, she stood on solid ground, she found that Rage had made her higher, and drier. These were the two opposing forces inside her now: Fear and Rage. The Rage she felt she could control, and use it against the Fear.

  She felt Vivienne’s hand on her shoulder and her warm presence behind her. “Deep breaths, Freya darling. Deep breaths.”

  Stronger now, she pushed herself up, bracing herself against the wall of what seemed to be the end of a long passage. Stairs rose up behind her and terminated in dark stone. The portal had already shut. Daniel was exploring; he had flicked on a small flashlight and was inspecting the area.

  “See anything?” Freya asked, her voice barely more than an inaudible whisper. She took a deep breath and asked again, “What do you see?”

  Daniel shined the light back at her; its brilliance cut into her eyes. She was already getting used to the darkness.

  “It’s just a cave.”

  “Are you okay?” Vivienne asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Anything broken?”

  “No.”

  “Do you need-”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Freya snapped testily. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

  “Right, good.” Vivienne shouldered her pack again. “Let’s get moving; it’s just a few miles.”

  Freya hoisted her pack up on her shoulder as well and then fell into step behind Vivienne and Daniel. The pace and sensation of walking in the dark was sickeningly familiar now.

  They walked for about an hour in what felt like a fairly straight line. Freya dwelt on the anger inside of her, trying to stoke it by meditating on all that she had unfairly suffered, the last time she was here and ever since, but found that she couldn’t hold on to the flames-it was just too exhausting. After a time she found that it had fallen away from her, leaving her alone with just the cold emptiness of the Fear.

  The tunnel dipped and Vivienne stopped.

  “What is it?” Daniel, behind Freya, asked.

  “It’s a door.”

  Freya took a deep breath. “So open it,” Daniel said.

  “Here we go,” Vivienne said, and there was a metallic rattling and then a creak as an ancient metal door swung open. Stepping through it, they found themselves on a landing where a circular stairway continued downward.

  She wasn’t prepared for the smell. It wasn’t overtly unpleasant, but it so instantly and so fully brought back the emotions of her first time here that she wanted to weep.

  She sucked her breath in, inflating herself, doing her best to bury all the emotions within her. Not even a day into her new mission and she was nearly an emotional wreck. She stepped through the doorway and almost automatically took a step back in order to re-enter several more times, but then she thought, Why bother? I’m already here.

  “I don’t believe it,” she muttered loudly. “All this time-there was a door at the top of the Langtorr. We could have gone back anytime we wanted.”

  “Yeah,” Daniel said. “But you wouldn’t have left, even if you knew about it. You would have gone on the quest anyway, just like me.”

  “Now come you two, no squabbling,” Vivienne said. “We’ve got other things to-”

  “No, actually, I think I would have just liked to have gone home,” Freya cut in. “Having had a chance to think about and reflect on it at length over the past eight years. . I think I would have just liked to have gone home.”

  “I don’t think so. You would have done the right thing in the end.”

  “We’ve got other things to focus on,” Vivienne said.

  More Rage boiled up inside Freya. That’s good, I can use that, she thought. “Really? The right thing? Trick two thirteen-year-old children into going on a dangerous, top-secret mission?”

  “That’s enough now,” Vivienne said.

  “Well, I’m glad I went,” Daniel said. “And you are too, deep down. What we did made a difference. We killed Gad.”

  “I said enough!” Vivienne exclaimed in a hushed, urgent voice. “If you two weren’t so busy scrapping just now, you’d have heard what I’m hearing.”

  Freya swallowed a breath. “What is it?”

  “Listen.”

  Up from the twisting stone passage came the sound of leathersoled shoes on stone stairs. Standing very still, Freya watched as Daniel slowly shrugged open his coat. He quietly adjusted the leather strap that held his sword’s scabbard so that it hung freely at his side and not hitched up to his chest. This action was not unnoticed by Vivienne, who turned slightly and placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

  Freya blinked in the blackness but soon found that a light was growing from the stairwell beneath them. She stood her ground, tentatively, standing on the balls of her feet. She watched the farthest corner of the wall below them to see what would appear.

  The face was the first thing she saw-it was white, haggard, and surrounded by a black halo of frizzy, unkempt, and matted hair. It was illuminated from below by one of the silver lamps of Ni?ergeard.

  “Frithfroth!” Daniel exclaimed.

  “Frithfroth, it’s us-it’s Daniel and Freya. Do you remember? We were children-” He broke off.

  Freya wondered if the old man might be blind. The way his lamp cast its light, it was hard to see his eyes; she could only spot two dim gleams of reflected light. When Daniel started speaking, Frithfroth stopped.

  “Who is he?” asked Vivienne.

  “He’s the Langtorr’s sort of. . housekeeper person,” Freya said a little uncertainly. “But when we knew him, he wasn’t-” Freya didn’t have to describe the unfortunate man in order to make her point clear. The long, gaunt face was definitely that of Ni?ergeard’s ward and the Langtorr’s protector, but he was wasted away, almost literally a shadow of the already slight and wiry man whom they had first met. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks collapsed in on themselves. He kept advancing, and now Freya could see his hunched shoulders and thin limbs. He held his arms up to his chest, but he had no hands-only two terrible-looking puckered scars at the end
of his wrists. He wore a dusty, fraying tunic that had decayed through in places. Leather garments beneath his shirt were similarly deteriorating and, she believed, rotting.

  Daniel and Freya both retreated back a step. Daniel found his voice first.

  “I remember,” Frithfroth said then, in a voice that came from a very long way away. “I remember. . Daniel and Freya, the lifiendes. Have you come to destroy this place?”

  Yes, thought Freya. Perhaps.

  “No,” said Daniel.

  “Pity.” Frithfroth looked down at his scarred wrists. “So what do you want?”

  “We want to help,” Daniel said, turning back to Frithfroth, whose face was impassive, showing no thought or emotion. “We’re here to liberate you. We’re here to run the yfelgopes right out of the city.”

  “First, however, we want answers,” said Vivienne firmly.

  “Answers,” Frithfroth repeated, staring into nothing. “Answers depend on questions.” He turned and started walking awkwardly down the stairs-a slow, unbalanced walk, halfway between a lurch and a limp. He led them down the corkscrewing stairs into the Langtorr, the last stronghold at the centre of Ni?ergeard.

  They hadn’t gone far before they passed a small hole in the thick wall that afforded a view down to the city. Daniel was the first to pass by it, and he stood, looking wordlessly through it. Freya joined him and crowded her face near the window as well. Frithfroth, aware that they were no longer following, waited silently a few steps below.

  “Let me have a look,” Vivienne said, and Daniel stepped back to allow her room at the window to look through.

  The plunging feeling in Freya’s stomach wasn’t caused just by the dizzying height, but by the familiar sight of the city. Far below them, Freya could make out the dim lights that illuminated the streets and what looked like a perfectly curved pile of rubble.

  “The wall is gone,” Daniel lamented. “Crumbled away into nothing.”

  “And there are other ruined buildings,” Freya said, spotting irregular piles of stone in the square stone buildings below them.

  “They attacked. ." Frithfroth said, continuing his slow, awkward gait down the stairs. “They attacked. . It is hardly what they. .” Frithfroth paused and put the stumps of his wrists to the temples of his head.

  “I see it all as if before me every moment: The girl-now, the girl I judge to have a good head on her. But the boy is too skinny by half-he looks sickly. A boy of that age should already be filling out and gaining strength. And his eyes are constantly wide and goggling-eager though they may be, he has not yet seen the sights that turns a boy into a man, much less a warrior.

  “I hear Godmund giving final cautions and advices-they fall on inattentive ears, and I fancy even he does not mark fully what he is saying. That’s of little matter. We are all just marking time until Ealdstan deigns to grace us with his presence.

  “The watch bell tolls for change. Godmund makes an excuse to leave. I stay. The old man finally arrives and gives his bitter benediction. He no sooner lowers his hand before the alarm bells ring.

  “Another attack!”

  Frithfroth’s face was horror-stricken as he stared sightlessly in front of him. Daniel, Freya, and Vivienne just followed, wide-eyed and bewildered. They were afraid of what might happen if they interrupted him, just as they were afraid of what might happen if he were to continue.

  “I leave in the company of the twice-cursed Cnafa and Cnapa-to go back to the Langtorr, to secure the tower, to protect the ruler, and to provide for the citizenry.

  “Arrangements made, I climb the walls of the inner courtyard in order to observe the attack. I find Breca there, standing also. It is he who holds the responsibility of defending the inner court and the Great Carnyx. He is the last defense for the citizenry of Ni?ergeard, but his first responsibility is to the Carnyx.

  “‘I do not see them. What are they doing?’

  “‘They are making feints,’ Breca informs me. ‘They are masking their true numbers and movements. All we can do now is fend them off where we can and wait for the main body. But it could come from any angle-or several.’

  “‘Where is Ealdstan?’

  “Breca shakes his head. He does not know, but he is certain he will arrive. Ealdstan has always been our defender against the yfelgopes-he stood always on the first line against the attackers. He will not fail us.

  “We stand there, gazing out at the sea of hostile besiegers, with one thought in my mind: Where is Ealdstan?

  “I feel a hand at my shoulder. ‘There,’ Breca says, pointing.

  “I watch as yfelgopes come bubbling up over the wall, mounting it on ladders and scaffolding. Heaven save me, I am relieved. Finally, the fight has come at last. I hear the order to arms and my heart rises within me. The lifiendes are on the move-Kelm and his army must be feeling the threat of it; that is the reason for their attack. It is desperation.

  “We fight. Salt of sweat and tang of blood rich on our lips. For days our long argument rages, sometimes within the city, sometimes without. Often I held the wall with the other defenders, those of the townsfolk who suited up to force the enemy back.

  “Time carries on. The enemy rarely flags. The only way to slay an yfelgop permanently-as with the sleeping warriors-is to kill it by mortal hand, or to remove its head from its body and heart from its chest. But in the heat of battle there is not always time for these operations. Very rarely, in fact.

  “There comes one of those eerie quiets that occasionally pass in battle-when warriors become fatigued in body and spirit, and, by what feels like mutual consent, withdraw from the field to regroup, recoup, and recover.

  “Godmund decamps to the gap in the wall, which is still widening, crumbling away; it is a war council of sorts, come to meet. Those guards and citizens of Ni?ergeard who are still able to stand are doing so atop the outer walls and towers, but the battle is taking its toll.

  “Modwyn is being summoned from the tower. She arrives, glorious in her silver and green enamel armour. She has brought a map of the city and spreads it onto a slab of stone.

  “It is explained to us how the city stood, and plans are made for the next press of attack. For now the yfelgopes are unnaturally calm. We mean to press our advantage while there is power still in our limbs.

  “It is just then that we hear the sound of digging-a harsh, grating, staccato of pickaxes and pounded chisels. In a city carved from the very stone that it rests upon, each strike of axe and tool reverberates through the whole and feels like a blow to the bones. There is nowhere to escape the noise of it. The besiegers work ceaselessly, continuously. The noise is deafening, maddening, and terrifying. Sometimes, in the silence, I hear those noises again.

  “We do not know why the digging has started just then, after so many years. Something must have changed, but we don’t know what. We wonder if it could be the lifiendes-could they be so successful so quickly? Could this be the final, desperate lunge of our all-but-defeated attackers? Or have the lifiendes failed and this was to be the killing blow?”

  Frithfroth stopped and turned toward them, his eyes at last seeing them again.

  “I never did find out the answer to that question. Did you succeed?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  “Ah,” he said.

  The farther down the Langtorr they went, the wider the stairs and expanse of their descending circle. They passed a few iron doors set in dark alcoves but did not explore them. There were other viewing holes that looked down to the city below, which grew closer and closer. They were able to pick out more details each time, evidence of the truth of Frithfroth’s tale-collapsed buildings, and then as they went farther, cracked walls; closer still, littered streets.

  A rope handrail suddenly sprouted from the wall, which some basic spiral carvings ran above. Both Freya and Daniel recognised the pattern, and they knew to look for the door to Ealdstan’s study. When they came upon it, however, they found the door warped-almost bent in two-and lying against
the wall. Inside, they could see a large stone table had been upended.

  “What happened here?” Vivienne asked.

  Frithfroth came back up a few steps and looked at the ruined portal. “Godmund decides it is time for answers, and so he comes looking for the person he believes has them. Ealdstan has not shown a whisker of himself since the battle, and no one has been able to spare the time to search for him. Some of the tower guard, Modwyn, and I search the entire tower. Every room but this is searched-Ealdstan’s metal door is shut tight. We pound and kick at it, but to no avail.

  “Godmund brings smiths in to cut and pull the door apart from the wall. He thinks to dig the worm out of its lair, but it is too late. Ealdstan has departed. And still the digging continues. The grains of sand of Ni?ergeard’s fall are continuing their trickle down.

  “Our situation is most desperate. And is about to become worse.”

  III

  The four of them reached the ground floor of the Langtorr and looked over the rail of one of the two wide staircases into the grand central foyer. Apart from being dusty and dark, it was much as they remembered it. It had been badly kept up-two tapestries were hanging on the wall at an odd angle-but otherwise it was not ruined or ransacked in any way.

  “Incredible,” Vivienne said, pressing a hand against her chest. “In all my days, I could never imagine. .”

  Frithfroth continued down the stairs below them. He stood in the centre of the reception room, where Daniel and Freya had once been welcomed by Modwyn.

  “This is where we are overcome,” he said. “This is where I am betrayed. While I collapse in exhaustion-I who should be most watchful-two guards are murdered and the gates of the inner keep unbarred. The doors of the Langtorr itself open in a wide and warm welcome to our enemy.

  “Something has changed in the air. I can’t think what until I realise that the bone-shivering sound of the tunnelling has ceased. I am still cursing Cnapa for not waking me when I see his body lying in the door of the Langtorr, bleeding his life blood out onto the ground.